My Saviour, Your Saint
by RubyFiamma
Summary: [8059][Smut][A/U] Yamamoto follows Gokudera to Italy to face off with the Bovino and Cappa families. New truths will be revealed as the rest of this two book series unfolds. Will Yamamoto and Gokudera be able to hold it together under all the pressure or will everything coming crashing down on them resulting in an already destined tragedy? Book II of My Saint, Your Saviour.
1. Book II : My Saviour : Prologue

_**Book II : My Saviour**_

_**Prologue**_

* * *

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?_

_No one will ever change the animal I have become_

_Help me believe it's not the real me_

_Someone help me tame this animal_

**Animal I Have Become **  
-_ Three Days Grace_

* * *

_I..._

_love this man._

I can say that I fell in love with him the second I saw him. I realize that I love him even more now, if that was ever possible, as I watch him staring out the window of the run down diner we've been eating breakfast at for the last few days. We never stay in one place for too long.

It's been a week since we arrived in Italy and Hayato hasn't been the same. The second his feet hit the tarmac I saw the change. He went from being his usually quirky and (in my opinion) charming self to a nervous wreck. I've never seen this side of him before and it's not like we've know each other long but after all we've been through, I feel like I've known him for a lifetime. Enough to know that something isn't sitting right with him, but of course, he won't tell me about it. He only tells me the things I _need_ to know. I don't mind, I guess, I know he does it to protect me even if he doesn't say so.

From what I've been told, Shamal has been in talks with the Bovino and Hayato's father but no one knows Hayato's arrived in Italy yet. Shamal has been trying to find a way for the Bovino to come to some sort of truece for now, pending an investigation lead by himself and at the disposal of the Cappa family (more or less Shamal's contacts, because Hayato told me that the Bovino and Cappa families are at war) and we're hoping the Bovino will agree. We're hoping that Shamal comes through with some information that can be useful. We're just_ hoping on Shamal_. Hayato tells me Shamal is brilliant at negotiations so I shouldn't worry but of course I'm going to. Hayato is undeniably the love of my life, there isn't a minute that passes by that I don't worry about him.

He's worried too, even though he won't tell me he is, but I can see that shift in his eyes when he looks at me. I can tell by the amount of cigarettes he smokes and the way he lets most of them burn away into ash before noticing that he was supposed to be taking a much needed drag.

I feel guilty, all the time. I used to think I was truly selfless until I met him. Until I made him shoulder my heavy burdens and go against his morals to harbor a murderer. Until I helped force him into a life he so desperately tried to forget. I am a truly _selfish _man, really unworthy of the way he makes me feel.

Because when he turns his head from the window to glance at me, his plush pink lips curl into a bit of a smile and though he's worried, I can see the relief wash over his face. He needs me here, and that isn't me being conceited. He needs me the way I need him. What I lack he makes up for and when I lose focus, he's there to keep me on track. He needs to be reassured that he's not alone. That he made the right decision and that everything he's sacrificed up to this point has not been in vain. We are truly made for each other, like the last two pieces of a complicated jigsaw puzzle finally fitting together to complete the most beautiful accomplishment. I will help him accomplish anything he sets his sights on, just like he's done for me.

And of course I'll assure him, I'll make him feel safe. It's what I've wanted to do the moment I came to understand his constant need for self destruction. He's never known love and I want to give it to him. I want to spoil him and show him that it's okay to be free. I want reach across this table and squeeze his hand and twine his long, slender and ring covered fingers within mine but I know he'll jerk it away and scold me to doing something so embarrassing in public. He likes to remind me that this is Italy and he is born mafia, successor of the Cappa Famiglia and the bargaining chip to get his sister back. He can't been seen in such a compromising position. These things shared between men aren't accepted by their laws. He has sworn me to secrecy and I will oblige without prejudice because after all he's done for me, it's the least I can do for him.

So I return his slack smile with one of my own and he turns back to the window, bringing a cup of piping hot black coffee to his lips and pursing them ever so slightly to blow on the liquid. The little things about him are what I love the most, like how he bites his bottom lip when he's deep in thought or way he clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth when he's frustrated but my personal favorite... my personal favorite is when he gets that beautiful pink glow that rises from his throat to splash over his cheeks to the tips of his ears whenever he gets flustered. It's my favorite because I'm usually the one that puts it there and it's all the confirmation I need to know how he feels about me, because the words he never says.

I can't help but get lost in the way his skin gleams like the first and freshest snow fall of December and how his silver hair shines like Christmas tinsel when the early morning sunlight hits them. How his eyes remind me of a clear tropical sea or rich, sparkling emerald. It's a sight that takes my breath away, the most captivating thing I've ever laid eyes on.

He takes a sip of the coffee and sets the cup back down on the cheap Formica tabletop without looking my way. He's biting his lip and I so desperately want to know what he's thinking about, what makes the gears in his logical brain move but he doesn't share these thoughts with me. It's alright, I want to know but I don't at the same time. The fact that he never voices his thoughts to me leaves me a little insecure at times and I dread hearing him tell me he regrets his decision; that he regrets _me._ I fear the day when he finally comes to his senses and tells me that he can't do this anymore. It wouldn't be the first time but I'm _always _afraid the next time will be the last time because _that _time he'll be serious.

But he hasn't said it yet. Even though certain things have changed with him, there are still things that remain the same. He calls me an idiot and a bastard, he fights me on a lot of things because he's stubborn and hates to be wrong, but he never tells me he regrets anything. I'll never know if it's the truth but inside I know he brought me with him here so we could be together and not just because he needed a bodyguard.

"Hey," I finally say softly, my curiosity getting the best of me."Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he says mindlessly, still staring out the window. "We should go. The sun's already out."

He's nervous about being seen and I understand. "Okay," I say with a smile.

He scoots out of the booth and throws a few Euros down on the table, the silver fringe casting over his eyes. I follow his lead and let him drive back to the motel.

The car ride is painfully quiet and I open my mouth several times to ask if he's okay, if I've done something to upset him or to just ask him what he thinks about the weather outside but I don't say anything at all. I know I'll just get one worded answers followed by an 'idiot' or 'bastard' and the names he calls me have never been meant as a hurtful insult coming from him. The way he says them are always endearing, even when he's mad and I never get offended but right now, I don't want to piss him off by prying when he's clearly thinking.

He's really cautious once we get to the motel, on the verge of paranoia kind of cautious but that's why we stay in this run down cash-only-no-questions-asked motel. Because I'm on the run and he's mafioso and we're here, together. There are a lot of people who are after us and Hayato looks really tired of running and fighting. Truth be told, I am too.

He enters first and I follow and when I turn back from closing the door behind me, he pushes me up against it and kisses me deeply.

I love the way he tastes. There's a faint yet heady taste of whiskey from hours prior because he spends most of his nights drinking rather than sleeping. It's laced well with the bitter coffee left on his tongue and in the depths of his mouth I can still taste the smoke. To anyone else it may seem off-putting but to me it's a taste that drives me into delirium because it always reminds me of our first kiss.

Every one of his kisses holds a different meaning, and I've learned them all because that's how he wants me to understand him. It's not easy for him to express anything other than anger so when he drops his guard and shares something he views so intimate, I listen.

It's hard pressed but his tongue rolls over mine slow, like he's savoring something. His arms wrap around my neck and his hand slides up the back of my head and into my hair but he doesn't pull or clutch, he just rests them there. The fact that he's initiating things is odd, because since we've arrived here he's been cold and distant and we've only had sex twice. And each time it felt like I was forcing him to do something that he didn't want to do. It was unsettling and I never want to have him look at me like that again. Whatever it is that's on his mind, I can only be patient with and hope that he gets over it. And if he doesn't, I will wait for him, for an eternity if I have to.

Because being with Hayato is the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

Even though we here in this motel together, I rarely get to see him. He's usually out having meetings with that sketchy doctor uncle. He doesn't ask me to come along because I stand out more than he does in this European country. When he's gone I'm always on edge, he's an easy target and he tells me that I can't trust anyone and I'm left to thinking, which according to Hayato is something I'm never good at.

But regardless, I think about what I would do without him; my saviour. I don't want to go back to that darkness I felt before him, but I would gladly bury my blade into anyone who would dare hurt him and I'd do it with a smile on my face. I feel that darkness return every time he walks out that door, it seeps through my bones and spreads through my soul like a plague. I lose myself and Hayato brings me back from the edge every time. Just knowing that he's the light that floods my darkness, the cage that secures my animal makes me feel such relief. I also know though, without him it would consume me.

But when he walks through the door safe and in one piece, the dark passenger inside me cowers away from his brilliant presence because Hayato, despite what he thinks, is my everlasting sun. The eternal ray if sunshine that makes me remember who I am, that makes me feel _alive_. It's the most amazing feeling and I want to hold on to it, forever and always.

We move to the bed and every kiss is the same as the first one; slow but needy, passionate and sensual. His tongue moves around in my mouth, hesitant like he's searching for something; his teeth pull at my bottom lip like he's angry and desperate. All these kisses are confessions he'll never make out loud but it holds they same truth as the words I can speak so freely to him.

"I love you, Hayato," I pant when I get a second to suck in the stale air of the room into my lungs. "I love you so much."

"I know," he responds with a sharp nip to my earlobe.

He doesn't say anything more and I take the liberty of shedding him free of his clothing. I run my hands leisurely over every inch of his taught ivory skin. I love the feel of his body; it's sharp and angular, small but not frail. He's got a hard chest and beveled torso that's just slightly concave. He doesn't look it but he's very fit and defined. His arms are strong, his hands are just a little bit rough and his fingers are long and slender. They hold me and touch me; they run up and down my spine, slide across my cheeks and mouth and over my throat and chest. He's just a bit bowlegged and his gait is alluring and seductive when he struts around with his head held high with an air of arrogance and superiority. But now those legs wrap around my waist tightly and he digs his heels into the small of my back to remind me that he still wants the control.

It doesn't matter if he's inside me or if I'm inside him, we're together and that's what important. When it comes to the way we feel about each other sexually, our appetites are insatiable. It's like he can't get enough of me, just like I can't get enough of him. Or at least it was, until we came to Italy and he closed right up on me, worse than when we first met because at least before there was still that... _passion_, that lust we had for each other but now, there isn't much of that feeling. At least not from him.

I feel like now he needs there to be something, whether he needs me to make love to him so that he doesn't feel lonely, or to relieve the stress that weighs heavily on his shoulders. I know... I _know _that somewhere in his heart, there's love for me. There has to be... but I also know right now, he isn't feeling that love. This is just a physical need for him.

But I'm not complaining... if he's initiating, I'll take it. At least my conscience will be clear at the end of it... Maybe. All I can do is do what he needs me to do for him, I love him and I want to make him happy, even if it hurts me.

When he gets lost in the moment, he lets me hear his voice. That sultry, raspy voice that's smooth like sandpaper with just the right amount of scratching grit. He throws his head back against the pillows and arches his back and he moans so erotically that it's enough to send me over the edge. He's like a fire cracker. He starts off with an breathtaking spark and sizzle, his movement is racy and wild and he explodes into something completely unexpected. Something dangerous and beautiful all at the same time.

He's putty beneath me, his porcelain skin tinted with the soft, rose blush I love so much. I sink in deeper and move with him, shifting angles every so often to coax a cry from those plush parted lips. I breathe in the scent of his hair as I bury my face into it, whispering how much I love that he's mine and mine alone. My possessiveness has never steered him, in fact I believe it comforts him; it gives him a place to belong in a world where he doesn't fit in. His place is beside me, just like my place is always beside him.

When he reaches his climax, he curls his toes and clings to me, calling out my given name. He surges up to kiss me, while he digs his fingernails into my back and I continue moving inside him until I feel my own climax rip through me in violent, shuddering waves. We fall back down on the bed and just lay there and hold each other, trying to slow our racing hearts and catch our breath. We're not spent yet. I know if we stay like this, we'll end up making love again and again and again until we're practically falling asleep and the last time is slow and lazy and sensual. That's usually my favorite time. But that hasn't happened in a while now, and I guess that's just me hoping for things to fall back into their original routine. And I hope that whatever Hayato was searching for, he found it, so we can move past this and go back to the way we used to be.

But nothing is said right now. It's dark in the room but the sun peaks through the curtains and hits his hair at an angle that leaves a golden halo sparkling through his silver hair. I tell him that I'll love him now and I'll love him forever. He tells me he knows, but he doesn't say it back. It's okay, because I know that he does. I _hope _that he does.

Moments like these make my heart swell until it feels like it's going to burst and I wish that I could just freeze us here and make it so that we can re-live it over and over. I want it to just be us, no murders or mafia; no traumatic pasts, just a hopeful future. I want to take him far away from everything that makes him hurt and just shower him with nothing but love and affection. Things he's needed his whole life, things he deserves. And I will, I will make everything he has to endure from here on out as simple and easy as I can so that we can leave this place and he can finally be happy and free.

He tells me he's tired and I'm glad that he finally wants to sleep. He tucks his head underneath my chin and I stroke down his spine with my thumb until he drifts off. Tomorrow will be better. It _has _to be, Shamal will come through... we'll save his sister, we'll save him and he'll save me. And then we'll move on, far away from this place that turns him into an empty and emotionless shell. Where he's able be himself, where he can smile and tell me he loves me and just... be free.

Guiltily, I lean back and steal one glance at his sleeping face before I close my eyes too. His long, silvery black lashes brush his cheeks that still have a hint of pink in them and his lips are parted slightly allowing his warm breath to hit my chest. He looks at ease, so peaceful and I kiss his forehead, letting my lips linger there.

He's everything I've ever wanted. He makes me believe that the me with darkness that resides within the hollow walls of my soul isn't the real me. He makes me feel wanted and special without saying anything. He saved me from myself and he continues to do it now. He is my saviour in every sense of the word.

I... truly love this man.


	2. Book II : My Saviour : Chapter I

**_Chapter I_**

* * *

Hayato stares into the bottom of the glass he held in his hand. It seemed to get empty a lot faster now and he wasn't sure just how many he had knocked back.

A cigarette burns idly in his other hand, the tendrils of smoke curling around his head. It was almost time to snub it out, he could feel the heat of it on his hand. He let it drop into the thin aluminum ashtray at his side and heaved a sigh, brought his hand up to rub at his temple. His head was pounding, likely because of the chain of cigarettes he had smoked. Now it was just habit, he literally couldn't smoke anymore.

He's more nervous than he should be, for all intents and purposes. He hates this weakness, hates th_e fear _that rises from the pit of his stomach and curls tightly around his throat, strangling.

Yamamoto is a calming presence sometimes but even he can't ease Hayato's mind. If anything, times like these have his mind wandering back a week or so ago when he learner Yamamoto was a cold blooded killer. When he learned that Yamamoto had all the traits and finesse of a natural born hitman.

He doesn't know if he should be envious or angry, elated or betrayed. Yamamoto lied to him, but he understands _why _he did it and if he actually puts some serious thought into the situation, he knows he's really just angry with himself for not figuring it out sooner. For being blinded by some stupid emotion that he wasn't at all accustomed to, but felt for the idiot nonetheless.

Hayato hasn't been sleeping much, he can't. When he does, his dreams are plagued with visions of hell, personal and otherwise. They're bloody and gory and macabre, like the one nightmare he has of Yamamoto wielding his katana in one hand and his head in the other. Or they're debauched and perverse and not at all right, like the ones he has of himself and Mukuro engaged in the most raunchiest of lewd acts. Sometimes they're of Bianchi, dead like his mother and all his fault just the same and others are of his father, and they're just as nerve wracking because Hayato has lost count of just how many times and all the different ways he's killed his father in his dreams.

He can't sleep because his subconscious is far more terrifying than his reality, and his reality is nothing he wants to face right now either. Not sober anyways.

It's close to six a.m and the sun has already begun to stream in through the motel room's shitty floral curtains and he feels like he's drunk but he isn't. He can't get drunk anymore, he just gets numb. Numb and dazed.

Yamamoto will be waking soon, fretting over him like some god damned mother hen and Hayato doesn't know how many more different ways he can tell Yamamoto to fuck off, leave him alone, he's _fine_.

Shamal will be over at some point today too, hopefully with a little bit of good news. He's supposed to be looking for information on Romeo's death so that they don't show up at the Bovino's estate empty handed and Hayato is forced to either die at the hands of some stupid cow family that's just blood-thirsty for revenge or start a war that he and Yamamoto aren't prepared for.

Italy sucks, he hates it here. It reminds him of everything he's come to despise, even if this is also the place where his mother rests.

Here, Hayato feels like he's slowly drowning, his chest is heavy and his lungs ache with unexhaled breath for fear that if he does breathe, he'll choke and speed up his slow death in the process. He's confused and unsure about a lot of things and being a man who likes control and stability this doesn't bode well with him. He's got no place to call his own, he's got no place at all here. This isn't _home_.

He feels the mattress dip against his back, as he sits on the floor at the foot of the motel bed contemplating on whether he should pour another shot of whiskey or switch over to black coffee. Yamamoto is awake, or waking, and he'll notice Hayato isn't beside him. It won't be a shock because most nights he hasn't been sleeping with Yamamoto at all. Sometimes they fuck, but Hayato doesn't even know what that feels like anymore. He goes someplace else, numb and indifferent. He thinks he still loves Yamamoto but he's not sure _how _to love him, especially here; especially now he's had a clear head to think about everything that's happened. And the one time he was able to think clearly about everything that's transpired, he never wanted to think about it again. Which is why he clouds his mind in thick webs induced by copious amounts of alcohol.

He feels breath on his neck and his stomach flutters but it also churns, one more sign that he's completely and utterly lost and torn.

"You haven't slept," Yamamoto says pointedly. His voice is a little gruff from lack of use and Hayato has always loved the way his morning voice sounded. Now it has no effect on him.

Hayato isn't sure how to answer because he wants to come back with some sardonic remark but he just doesn't have it in him to care. So he sets his whiskey glass on the dirty carpet beside him and grabs for a stale cigarette out of a crumpled package.

Yamamoto sighs softly and smooths a hand through Hayato's shaggy and knotted silver hair. Hayato continues to smoke his cigarette, wanting to lean in to the touch and pull away from it all at the same time.

"Hayato... I wish you would talk to me."

Hayato can answer this because it's simple. "There's nothing to talk about." His voice is rough; cracks, and his throat is dry despite having just shot down a full glass of golden liquid that burned on it's way down his esophagus and spread throughout his chest. Lately he had an insatiable thirst.

"I don't believe that," Yamamoto says softly.

"Believe what you want, idiot." Hayato pulls on his cigarette and exhales, letting the smoke just float through his lips in a slow breath.

"Come to bed?" He'll ask nicely first, and then he'll demand it and Hayato thinks he'll probably comply just this once because he's close to being drunk, if he isn't already. Part of him wants the heat of Yamamoto's body wrapped around his.

"Hayato, come. You need to rest. You need a shower too. Let me take care of you if you're not going to take care of yourself."

"Che. I don't need you to take care of me. I can do that just fine. "

Yamamoto slides his hand down Hayato's face and across his cheek and jaw. He chuckles a little, his breath tickling Hayato's ear. "Well, how long to you plan on going without shaving? Is this a new look for you?"

Yamamoto's laughter warms him a little and he decides to rest his head back on the mattress, leaning into Yamamoto's touch, looking up into his eyes.

"Yeah, I can't let anyone know that the Smokin' Bomb has been associating himself with some dumb baseball idiot." It's his lame attempt at humour but he knows Yamamoto will laugh like it's the funniest thing in the world and he does.

Hayato dumps the cigarette in the ashtray and reaches up where his hands find purchase in the thick raven hair at the nape of Yamamoto's neck. He kisses him, long and deep in hopes that he'll feel something. He does, just a little heat but he wants more. He wants Yamamoto to make him feel again, he wants to feel alive again. Maybe he wasn't exactly _living _life when he had been a detective in Japan but at least he didn't feel dead inside, not like he does now.

There's a spark but no flames ignite, like a lighter that's run out of fluid and the striker wheel just flicks against the flint to no avail. Hayato sighs into Yamamoto's mouth, disheartend. He drops his hands and his head but Yamamoto doesn't let him be, He should know by know that the idiot is insanely persistent.

Yamamoto snakes his arms around Hayato's neck and rests them on his chest. He sets his chin on the top of Hayato's head and heaves a sigh of his own.

"You don't have to keep it bottled in, you know."

"I'm not," Hayato mutters. "There's nothing wrong. I'm _fine_."

"You're not a very good liar, Hayato."

_Apparently not as good as you,_ he thinks bitterly.

"You don't think I haven't noticed something off? Not only don't you sleep and you smoke and drink _way _too much, but even the way you kiss me is different."

_Once upon a time, fire was there, wasn't it? _Hayato can still remember the burn of their first kiss stinging his lips but it isn't enough to rekindle any sort of feeling. It's just there like a fond and distant memory and sometimes it doesn't even feel like it's his memory at all.

"Is it your sister? Your father? Italy?" Yamamoto grasps at straws.

Hayato thinks he'd rather go to sleep than have to answer to Yamamoto but he does anyways, just to get him to lay off. "It's everything and no, I don't want to talk about it. Move, I want to sleep."

Yamamoto laughs but it's a little forced and Hayato stands, brushing off the ash that's collected in his lap and shrugging out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor. He crawls on to the bed beside Yamamoto and reaches out, draping himself over the larger built man. Yamamoto utters a surprised squawk but wraps his arms around Hayato's waist and holds him even closer.

"Stay put," Hayato mumbles. "I'm cold and I need your body heat."

Yamamoto kissed the top of his forehead. "Okay."

Hayato closes his eyes and breathes in the scent that was uniquely Yamamoto's - an air of sunlight and dirt and just a hint left of his aftershave. It's an intoxicating smell, one that once Hayato caught a few breaths, he could feel the familiar flutter return to his stomach. Being so close to Yamamoto's hardened and naked chest, the subtle rise and fall of it as he breathes kind of stirs him up. It could be the alcohol, it could be a number of things. It could be him just giving in because he hates to feel so alone.

He starts with a nip to Yamamoto's throat and Yamamoto laughs and says, "Haha, that tickled."

Hayato keeps his eyes focused on the bob of his Adam's apple as he speaks and lashes his tongue out across it, savoring Yamamoto's scent on the tip of his tongue. Yamamoto falls silent and Hayato continues as Yamamoto cants his head to the side to give Hayato more access to his neck and all the parts sensitive.

It's almost funny that Hayato gets a little pissed off because the bastard already seems too in to this, too eager and too expectant. It makes him want to stop just to tease, to torture, to teach him a lesson. He_ would_ have stopped had it not been for the growing bulge beneath his jeans, hot against his thigh. He slips a hand down in between them and grazes across Yamamoto's thin cotton boxers just to feel how interested he's become - not like he didn't already know. He graciously rubs over Yamamoto's clothed election and a whisp of breath escapes Yamamoto's mouth.

He half expects Yamamoto to put a halt to it because he reeks of stale cigarette smoke and booze, but then again Yamamoto loves him at his best and at his worst and he will take all of Hayato whenever he can get it. He's also certain that Yamamoto likes to fuck just as much as he does, so of course he wouldn't complain.

Hayato supposes that's what love is supposed to be like, but he's never been one to follow the rules and he will love - or whatever - Yamamoto in his own way. Also, because he's not even really certain that he feels that way about him anymore. All he knows is that the sex is amazing no matter what way he looks at it and even though he can't really feel anything most of the time, he's guessing the alcohol coursing through his veins at this moment is going to make him partake in feeling _something_.

Hayato's thoughts become derailed when he finds Yamamoto's hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking him fervently. Yamamoto is usually the one to slow things down but he's just as, if not more so, desperate as Hayato. It's been a long time, for their standards, since they've touched because Yamamoto refuses to take him with the look of indifference and the lack of participation on his behalf. Hayato supposes that's what he'd call depression, he's never imagined he'd lose his sex drive especially in times of stress, when it tends to peak more.

"Hayato," Yamamoto whispers, wet against his neck. "You're thinking too much. Don't think, just _feel_."

It pisses Hayato off that Yamamoto knows him so well, knows how to read him and knows what he's thinking. He's never thought of himself as predictable but Yamamoto knows _him_.

He listens anyways and stops trying to think, starts focusing on the way Yamamoto's calloused hand slides up and down his cock and the way Yamamoto's breath and tongue on his flesh send waves of tingles throughout his body.

Yamamoto pushes him down flat on his back and drags his tongue down the length of his torso, skirting his fingertips across Hayato's chest; slowly over each and every scar, especially the bullet wound close to his heart that almost killed him.

Hayato hisses and arches into Yamamoto's touch, gasps when Yamamoto divests him of his clothing and wraps his mouth around Hayato's cock. It glides down the length of his shaft, slicking it wet and hot; his tongue licks around the ridge; laps over his head and dips into the slit. Yamamoto is fucking amazing at giving blow jobs and he just wishes that he didn't hate him so much, he wishes sometimes that it wasn't _him. _

Regardless, it makes Hayato spit out Yamamoto's name and he groans when Yamamoto slides his fingers into his mouth alongside Hayato's cock and drags them down the crease of his ass, teasing. Hayato spreads his legs just a little wider, raises his hips just a little higher and moans just a little louder. He clutches a fistful of Yamamoto's hair in each hand and bucks his hips forward, sinking further into Yamamoto's mouth until he can feel the tip of his cock hit the back of Yamamoto's throat.

He had forgot what this felt like, the heat coiling in his stomach; the primal urge to just fuck and fuck until he got the release he so desperately craved. He forgot how Yamamoto could make him feel amazing, turned inside out by just the use of his mouth.

Yamamoto slips a second finger in and moves his tongue, probing and prodding inside and Hayato swears he's going to come, just like this. He bears down on Yamamoto's fingers while Yamamoto swallows him whole once more but Hayato can't take it, he can't take anymore. Alcohol is an amazing aphrodisiac.

"Yama... fuck me," he gasps, high pitched and wanton. "_Fuck me_."

Yamamoto looks at him sharply through narrowed hazel eyes and grins feral. He pulls of his boxers and nearly pounces on Hayato when loud and sharp and _insistent _banging comes from the motel room door and he pulls back, stunned.

"Leave it," Hayato pants, clawing at Yamamoto's biceps, trying to reel him in.. _Just fuck me, I need to feel something. I need to know if I can still feel something._

"But... it's probably Shamal."

"I don't give a fuck," Hayato snarls. He leaves the satement open ended because there's a plea there he'd rather not voice out loud. He doesn't know if he wants the pain or he wants Yamamoto. He just wants _something. _

_But I'm not going to beg you._

The knocks continue and Yamamoto just looks unsure, frozen in an awkward position between the bed and the door with his boxers in his hand. They stare in silence until Hayato lets out a long and frustrated growl and rolls out of bed to retrieve his clothing. Yamamoto quickly dresses too and glances at the bedside clock, it's nearly eight in the morning.

Hayato angrily pushes the sweaty mop of hair back from his forehead and grabs a cigarette, lights it and blows out the plumes of smoke furiously through his flared nostrils. Yamamoto is finally dressed and he looks over at Hayato, apologetic, but that just pisses him off more.

He isn't sorry, Yamamoto is _never _sorry. He acts now and asks questions later, doesn't _care _about the fucking consequences. Doesn't _care _that the wires in Hayato's brain have all crossed and frayed and he doesn't know what's right and what's wrong anymore. He doesn't know what's up and what's down, what he's really doing here... _what is the meaning of life?_

He's surprised that he knows his own name half the fucking time, and he's so fucking irate that Yamamoto is the one who's fucked his shit up.

It doesn't help that Mukuro was part of that torture too.

"Oi, you fucking lazy brat! Get up and answer the fucking door!" Shamal's voice was muffled but definitely loud behind the motel room door.

"Well don't just stand there, you fucking idiot. Answer the damn door!" Hayato snaps in Yamamoto's direction, picking up his discarded shirt from the edge of the bed.

"R-right," Yamamoto says but he's still looking at Hayato with an expression somewhere between regret and sorrow.

Hayato doesn't know why he has to look like that, he doesn't _deserve _to look that way. He's the one that's made Hayato feel like this, that's made Hayato _hate _him. He doesn't return the look or offer any condolence, he just sneers and ushers for Yamamoto to open the door.

"What the fuck?" he curses at the doctor just a little too indignantly when Yamamoto opens the door and Shamal storms inside.

He's carrying several shopping bags and his medical bag to which he drops unceremoniously to the dirty carpeted floor. His dark brown eyes flicker from Hayato to Yamamoto and Yamamoto just might have an edge of annoyance and irritation to his expression now.

Shamal wrinkles his nose and grimaces, turning back to Hayato as he shuts the motel room door.

"Smells like sweat and sex in here," he comments in disgust.

Hayato rolls his eyes. "Fuck you, you stupid prick. What the fuck? Do you not know how to call people before showing up first?"

"Shut up, you insolent brat. I'm sorry I interrupted your fucking, but you've got business you need to attend to." Shamal takes out a cigarette and lights it. He gives Yamamoto a dirty look before returning his glare towards Hayato.

He sighs inwardly and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "What's with all this shit?"

"Well... You can't go to official business meetings looking like a couple of street brats." He motions to their clothing. "I estimated your measurements and took them in to a tailor friend of mine, had him modify a few suits for the two of you. You're mafiosi now. You can't walk around in plain clothes looking like you've just fucked for a few hours straight. You need to be _professional._"

"Shut up, you don't even know what you're talking about," Hayato grounds out. "It's eight in the morning -"

Yamamoto nervously clears his throat. "Thank you, Shamal-san."

"Bastard, don't fucking thank him."

"I've told you to just call me Shamal. I'm not into formalities. And you're going to have to learn to speak Italian, otherwise you'll have no fucking clue what's going on around you and Hayato can't be your translator when he's in the middle of negotiations."

"Gokudera's taught me some," Yamamoto says slowly. "Enough for me to probably understand. To speak it is a different story, haha."

"You're still a fucking idiot. And you are too," Hayato nods towards Shamal. "All this fucking shit is pointless if we can't get Bianchi back, which you're taking your sweet ass time doing. Are you as useless as you are perverted?"

Hayato feels like he really wants to piss off Shamal. He hates his attitude, his righteous and stupid advice when he's no better. Shamal is a walking fucking contradiction. He knows that Shamal is Roman Catholic womanizing pervert, he knows Shamal has made it clear on several occasions that he especially disapproves of their relationship and the fact that his only prodigy turned out to be gay. It embarrasses him and Hayato knows that it hurts him a little too, especially now that Shamal might be his father. He's never said anything about being ashamed of him, but Hayato knows it bothers him _a_ _lot. _And he wants a little revenge for Shamal arriving at the _most _inconvenient time.

"Hayato -"

"You brat -"

"Ignore the _idiot_," Hayato seethes with a glare. "Do you _have _anything yet, Shamal? The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go home." He says _I _because he's really close to just saying fuck it all, cut his losses and head back to Japan on the first flight, by himself. Maybe not Japan, but maybe Borneo or America or Spain... hell, maybe even Canada. Far away from assholes that love you with a lie and family that do nothing but ruin your life.

"I have information, yes. Quit your fucking bitching, you sound like a goddamned woman."

Hayato clenches his fists at his sides and just works his jaw as he stares up at Shamal.

"Oh c'mon. You asked for it when you whined like a little bitch," Shamal jokes but it doesn't crack a smile across Hayato's face. "Fine," he says with a sigh. "You win. Look, do me a favour and don't talk like that around other people. You'll get the same reaction, you know."

Hayato's fingers itch for a cold hunk of metal that he's used to wearing in a shoulder holster. They itch to pull a trigger. They itch to launch sticks of dynamite in the general direction of the people that piss him off.

"Hayato, you should really relax. I'm sure Shamal will tell you when you've calmed down."

_The fucking nerve. _"Fuck you, bastard. No one asked for your idiotic opinion."

.Yamamoto wrings his hands nervously and avoids all eye contact. He doesn't say anything but he looks generally hurt. Hayato feels kind of satisfied seeing the look in his eyes right now. He increases the intensity by staring at him, a fire smoldering in his green eyes and he silently fumes, his hands still balled at his sides. He wants Yamamoto to feel uncomfortable, he wants Yamamoto to _hate _him too because it'll make everything so much more _easier._

"What the fuck crawled up your ass to make you so fucking miserable?" Shamal asks, scratching his head. He ruffles his hair and turns around and then looks back at Yamamoto. "On second thought, don't answer that. I really don't need to know."

"Fuck you," Hayato mutters. He's so sick of these lame jokes, so sick of this same old fucking routine. Everything is just stuck in limbo; here in a dingy and dirty motel room where day in and day out he's forced to see a face he hates, a smile he despises; chasing down whiskey shooters and stale cigarette smoke. There's no air to breathe, to room to move; there's _nothing_. There's nothing...

"You know, you really should be nicer to your boyfriend," Shamal mutters, lighting another cigarette.

Hayato snaps his head in Shamal's direction and gives him an incredulous look. He doesn't even want to rebuke because the words that sit on the edge of his tongue are vile like acid and burn him just the same.

Yamamoto rubs the back of his neck. "Uh... Shamal, do you think you could just fill us in? Gokudera's been pretty uneasy lately... Maybe you could just ease his mind a little?"

"Maybe if he laid off the booze he won't be so edgy," Shamal replied.

"Haha, you're right... but uh -"

Hayato gives him another warning glance and Yamamoto clamps his mouth shut. He keeps pushing Hayato's buttons and whatever lust (if that's what it was called, more like drunken induced horniness) is gone. He swears by the end of the day he's either going to drink himself into stupor or he's going to punch Yamamoto. Or maybe it'll be both.

Shamal stuffs his hand in the pocket of his white lab coat, which Hayato has noticed he wears almost _everywhere,_ and pulls out a small box. "Here," he says around the butt of a new cigarette. "These are for you, four eyes."

Yamamoto looks up in time to catch the box with surprising agility. "Eh?" He turns the box over in his hand and Hayato sees that it's prescription contacts. He looks at Shamal quizzically.

"I'm mafioso, I know everything. They're the right prescription. Can't have you in the middle of a battle blinded because you're glasses are broken or something. If you're really going to protect Hayato, you need to be at your best."

"Ah, thanks! Haha."

"I'm not a fucking invalid. I can take care of myself."

Yamamoto and Shamal both roll their eyes. It just pisses Hayato off even more.

Shamal pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know you can, it's to keep up with appearances mostly. You know you're father is going to ask questions about him. He should at least look the part."

"Yeah, whatever. I get it."

"Alright, good. I'm going to wait in the car. Shower and get dressed and pack your shit up. You're checking out today. Before we go I'll brief you on the information we can use in negotiations." Shamal turns before opening the door. "And no fucking. We don't have time for that."

"Fuck off, perverted old man," Hayato mumbles as Shamal leaves. He looks over at Yamamoto and scowls. "I hate you."

He frowns and stalks over to where Hayato stands. "You don't really mean that, do you?"

Hayato turns his head and sticks his nose up in the air, steps away from Yamamoto. He can't be too close because one of two things will happen and neither of them Hayato wants to do right now. He's lost the mood or whatever it was, knowing Shamal is outside waiting for them keeps him pretty flaccid. And the other is to strangle the life out of Yamamoto; take that fucking awful optimistic light right out of those eyes so he can just forget all of this ever happened. "Go die... I need another drink."

Yamamoto sighs, frowns. He looks worried and hurt and dejected but it isn't enough. It doesn't satisfy him enough and the hatred he feels is something awful and unhealthy. It's think and black and fills his lungs up like heavy smoke, fogs his brain like a dense mist. This kind of darkness grips his heart in hardened steel jaws while someone ruthlessly winds the handle.

He stands next to the bed and glares at that too, because he hates it too. It reminds him of the night Yamamoto broke him, it reminds him that his judgment was so clouded by this _disgusting _emotion that he allowed himself to fall deeper into Yamamoto and this one way trip to Hell.

"Hayato... we've got to go and get this all over with. You can't go into a meeting drunk."

"I'm not going to get drunk, I need something to take the edge off. I'm halfway between killing you and killing myself. I hate this shit."

And he does, he hates all of it. Hates his life, hates his family and he really hates Yamamoto. He can't stand that he had been lied to, he'd been fucked with and toyed around, pawns to both him and Mukuro in their sick little game. He can't stand that he had to leave Tsuna without so much as a good bye, hates the fact that he's probably sick with worry and there isn't anything Hayato can do to ease his mind. He was there to protect Tsuna but he chose Yamamoto in the end. He _loathes _himself for that, and Yamamoto even more.

Yamamoto places a hand on his shoulder and tries to pull him into a hug, despite everything Hayato's just said. He doesn't even look the least bit phased that he's been told to _go die _or that Hayato himself is envisioning killing him.

"Eveything's going to be okay, you know."

Hayato snorts scornfully and slaps Yamamoto's hand off his shoulder. "How do you know that? You don't know anything about anything! Don't talk to me about things being okay, Takeshi! Nothing is fucking _okay_!" He moves away from Yamamoto in fear that he will hit him and tries to go back to just feeling nothing at all rather than all this rage.

"I-I'm sorry-"

"Don't! Don't you dare apologize!" Hayato shouts, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. If he apologizes, Hayato has to accept it; has to accept that everything is alright but it's _not_. It means he has to accept what Yamamoto has done and the situation and maybe back in Japan he had but the reality has hit him a lot harder than he expected it to.

"Alright, alright... I get it. You don't want to talk about anything and you just want me to accept everything. Fine, if that's what I have to do then I will... but you're going to have to talk to me about it sometime, Hayato. This... this hurts."

Hayato glares at him and he's just at a loss for words. He can't do it... he doesn't know how much more of this he can take. Hayato feels like he's teetering on an already crumbled ledge and any minute now he's going to fall. And he thinks that falling won't be a bad thing because at least he can escape this hell and be free. Yamamoto can't save him this time because he's pretty sure Yamamoto's the one he wants to get away from. But he's _glad _that it hurts, he wants Yamamoto to hurt like he does.

Like he _used _to, because he's beyond hurt now. He doesn't feel that anymore.

He stares at Yamamoto for a long time, too mad to even smoke his cigarette, too numb to acknowledge that Yamamoto's feelings are hurt. He doesn't know what to say because in his mind, it just sounds like the same things over and over. _You used me, you used me, you used me. _Except on some level Hayato knows that isn't the only truth. It's not just Yamamoto he has a problem with, it's his father, his sister, Shamal, _this whole fucking situation_. He's angry with himself for what and who he's become; just an older version of the twelve year old brat; dirtied and mangy looking with a real bad attitude looking to kill or be killed. He never wanted to come back here. Not for anyone or anything. And now he's got to face his demons and he's got to do it alone. There isn't anyone - _no one_ he can trust to help him with anything. It's fine, Hayato thinks. He's had to do everything else on his own, had to overcome this once before on his own. It's possible if he doesn't have distractions like _love_ and other stupid shit. He doesn't need nor want anyone's love, especially coming from the man standing in front of him; anguish pooling in eyes Hayato once appreciated and lips twisted in the most desolate frown. He wants to say something, Hayato can tell, but he doesn't. He just holds Hayato's stare and hopes Hayato will offer something reassuring and comforting. But Hayato doesn't say anything either, because he's in no mood to make the other man feel an ounce of happiness.

They say misery loves company.

Hayato takes one last drag of his cigarette and drops it to the floor, crushing it under his bare heel. He doesn't even feel that.

"Hayato, I -" Yamamoto finally opens his mouth to speak but Hayato wants nothing of it.

He waves a dismissive hand, cold and aloof and turns his back towards the other man. "I'm going to shower."

And he heads to the bathroom without another word or backwards glance and he already knows Yamamoto stands alone in the center of the room, stretching out an offering hand; a hand that wants to grasp him; catch him; reel him in, but he's gone. So far gone that he isn't coming back.


	3. Book II : My Saviour : Chapter II

**Warning :** Contains graphic depictions of violence; angst; character injury

* * *

**_Chapter II_**

* * *

After Hayato left the bathroom, Yamamoto slipped inside without a word or glance exchanged between them. He didn't know what to say anymore and obviously Yamamoto had gotten the point and was just going to leave him alone. It was a good thing, he needed the time to think.

During his shower, he concluded that he'd have to put his animosity aside until they were able to retrieve Bianchi from the Bovino. People had to believe that he trusted Yamamoto. It wasn't to say that he didn't, not when it came to his life. He knew Yamamoto would protect him with his _own _life regardless the amount of lies that came out of his mouth; whether Hayato trusted him or not.

He dressed in the suit Shamal picked up for him, strapped on his shoulder holster and fit his AutoMag inside. He packed his clothes into a small suitcase and contemplated waiting for Yamamoto but he never came to a decision because Yamamoto was already out of the shower, contacts in.

For a second their eyes met and Hayato could see a glint of something, maybe sadness and hopefulness but Yamamoto quickly looked away. It was hard on him, Hayato supposed, having to deal with his mood swings and the constant hot and cold of their relationship. And Hayato isn't stupid, he can see things from other peoples' perspectives, and he knows that Yamamoto puts up with it all because he loves Hayato. He's just having a lot of trouble forgiving him right now. A lot of trouble forgiving _himself__._

Part of him even tries to reason, asks himself why he's even _mad _at Yamamoto. He's already accepted that Yamamoto is a killer; that he has a dark and dangerous side that to be honest, still makes Hayato weak in the knees and a little scared sometimes. But Hayato can't get over the fact that he was lied to, he can't _trust_ Yamamoto. He wants to, because god, it's so tiring being so suspicious of everyone all the time; always second guessing peoples' motives. It's so tiring to feel this way, to remember what it felt like to finally love and trust someone and to have it taken all away. It's an all too familiar feeling for Hayato, it's how he's felt about his father, both his mothers (though he doesn't resent his birth mother, she had no choice) and even his sister.

Yamamoto stopped for a second, looking back to stare at him, his jaw a little slack.

"What?"

Yamamoto smiled sheepishly. "You... You look..."

"What? I look what? Is there something wrong with my hair?" Hayato asked tiredly, looking into the vanity mirror. His hair looked just fine. "Will you quit staring at me, idiot?"

"Yeah... Sorry about that," he replied dejectedly.

Hayato let his eyes follow Yamamoto wander around the room, picking up odds and ends and throwing them into his own suitcase before picking the suit up off the bed and studying it.

He chuckled a little with a frown on his face and set it back down on the bed. "You know, I've only ever worn a suit once in my whole life."

Hayato leaned on the dresser and didn't reply.

"It was for my mother's funeral." Yamamoto sucked in a breath. "Never liked them much after that, haha. They kinda feel... suffocating."

Hayato watched him for a moment, biting his lip to keep him from blurting something stupid or something comforting that he'd definitely regret later. He sighed and walked over to the door where he set down the suitcase. "Hurry up and get ready. Shamal is waiting."

Yamamoto eyes flickered over to where Hayato stood and he smiled forcefully. "Right... Sorry."

Hayato watched him get dressed without a word, smoking away on the last cigarette he had. He peered out the window where Shamal stood leaned up against the trunk of a black limousine. Hayato rolled his eyes at the doctor's overly excessive behaviour and returned to watching Yamamoto, who was now struggling with a tie.

"I hate these things," Yamamoto laughed.

Hayato scowled. "Then don't wear the fucking tie if you can't tie it properly, idiot. At least _try _to look somewhat professional."

Yamamoto threw the tie in the suitcase and nodded. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I've been waiting for you this entire time. You're like a snail, do you think it can fucking speed shit up?" Hayato snapped impatiently.

"Haha. Sorry, sorry. I've just gotta put these shoes on and we can go."

"Che. Forget it, meet me at the car. Moron." Hayato grabbed the suitcase and opened the door, slamming it as hard as he could. He was so damn annoyed, so fucking _irritable_and he had no idea why.

Okay, maybe he did. Lack of sleep, Yamamoto, nutrition, Yamamoto, too much alcohol consumption, Shamal, headaches, Bianchi, the bright sun, smoking too much, Yamamoto, sexual frustration, did he mention fucking Yamamoto? All these things caused irritability. They were _his _causes of irritability.

"Took you fucking long enough," Shamal muttered, flicking his cigarette across the parking lot.

"What the fuck is up with the limo?" Hayato asked with distaste.

"Ah, haha... I was at an event last night and well, I came right here afterwards so... This is what we're driving in. Deal with it."

"Don't you think it's a little conspicuous? And what the hell are you doing partying before we have an important meeting to go to, you irresponsible fucker?" Hayato placed his suitcase in the trunk and crushed the cigarette on the asphalt with his new leather shoes.

"That's none of your concern, brat. Besides, it was a ladies charity event for breast cancer. If you think a reputable man like myself isn't going to make an appearance at an important fundraiser like that then you don't know me very well," Shamal said, quirking an eyebrow.

Hayato scoffed. "Right... Only _you _would take something as sensitive and serious as a charity benefit for _cancer_ and turn it into a fucking dating pool. You're disgusting."

Shamal clapped Hayato on the back and grinned mirthlessly. "As are you, you little bastard. Where's your boyfriend?"

"Fuck you, he's not my boyfriend-"

Shamal rolled his eyes. "Grow up, Hayato."

"You grow the fuck up, old man. You're still -"

"Yo! I'm ready!"

The men turned to see Yamamoto walk across the parking lot, face split into a wide grin and his katana slung over his shoulder.

"Fuck, finally," Hayato muttered.

Shamal sighed and got in to the limousine with Hayato following suit. A moment later, Yamamoto was inside, seated with his katana across his lap.

"You don't let that blade leave your sight, do ya kid?"

Yamamoto smiled fondly and shook his head. "No... It was my father's sword."

Shamal's lips twitched into a smirk and Hayato looked out the window, avoiding anything Yamamoto. It didn't help that he sat across from Hayato, directly in his line of sight.

Shamal tapped on the closed partition window and the limousine slowly peeled out of the parking lot of the motel. Hayato was glad to see that disgusting place go but nervous just the same when he thought about having to stay in his father's castle.

"Once we get her back, I'm a free man you know," Hayato said absentmindedly, still looking out his window.

"Yeah... Sure." Shamal didn't sound convincing. "Alright, let's talk about what I found out regarding Di Marco's death."

Hayato turned and pointed to the partition. "Do you think it's a wise idea to be talking about this now? You should have just told us back at the motel."

Shamal waved his hand dismissively. "He works for me, don't worry. I pay him to drive, not to listen. Besides, it's sound proof. And even if it wasn't, we're speaking Japanese, you dim wit. He's not going to understand what we're talking about anyways."

"He's got a point," Yamamoto said.

Gokudera sneered in Yamamoto's general direction. He watched Shamal pull out a tablet and poke around on the screen.

"Do you think that's wise, carrying around information like that?" Hayato chided.

Shamal set the tablet down on the seat and narrowed his dark brown eyes. "Listen here, you fucking annoying little _shit_. I've had enough of your mouth. I've been out doing my fucking job, bending over backwards for you so that you can continue to fucking _live _and you've got nothing but disrespect and ignorance coming out of that mouth. I've had enough. Either shut up and listen or get the fuck out and fuck off."

Hayato opened his mouth to retort but closed it quickly and puffed a bit of air through his nostrils. Yamamoto eyes swept to the floor of the limousine.

"I don't know what they're going to have to say, or what we're left to bargain with," Shamal said after a deep sigh. "After two weeks of my amazing charm and witty tactics, the Bovino have agreed to set up a meeting with their _sotto capo._"

"Good," Hayato snorted. "A meeting with the boss or consigliere would prove to be troublesome."

Yamamoto's head jerks up and he shifts his eyes from Shamal to Hayato. "Why?"

"Because Romeo, Bianchi's husband, was the son of the consigliere. Both the boss and sotto capo are near retirement, so Romeo was a candidate for the position of _sotto capo _at least. He was a very important member of their family," said Shamal.

Hayato drew in a breath, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "This could get ugly."

"Just understanding the severity of it all, huh?" Shamal asked smugly.

Hayato took notice of Yamamoto's puzzled expression and let out a frustrated sigh. "A Don is the main boss of a family, the _consigliere_is the right hand man, the boss's go to guy; his shield, loyal trustee. He is _always _at the Don's side, always devoted to him, no matter what. That's what Shamal is to my father. And the _sotto capo _is the underboss, the man who takes the boss's place in emergencies like incarceration or illness. My father doesn't have one. He runs the family with Shamal and a few other men of no importance, and foot soldiers. Those are the guys that do all the dirty work but are devoted to the family nonetheless. _Capiche_?"

Yamamoto grinned. "Aha, I know that one. Yeah, I think I understand. So we're meeting with... the Bovino family's underboss, right?"

"Yeah," Shamal answers. "During our meeting, you will only speak when spoken to, got it? They won't likely address you if you just remain quiet."

Yamamoto nodded and Hayato couldn't shake the sense of foreboding despite the irritation he felt towards the man sitting across from him. And what made it worse was that Yamamoto really had no clue. He was laughing and grinning like this was some _joke. _Chewing on his lip, Hayato tore his eyes away from Yamamoto before that mixture of emotion that had begun to creep up had engulfed him. He didn't know whether or not to be angry or scared, and not for his own life but Yamamoto's. Either way he looked at it, it wasn't a good idea to bring him here.

"So what are we going in there with, Shamal? Please tell me you've got something."

"I do have _something_, but I'm not sure what it means. It's video surveillance from the lounge that Romeo used to frequent. The one your sister worked at."

"How the fuck is that going to be of any use to us? It's been months, they're not going to believe it's an original copy. Not to mention it's not like they wouldn't have seen it before. I'm sure they investigated the shit out of this," Hayato remarked.

"Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn't it. It _is _the same copy of the surveillance but they've overlooked something. They're not thinking that someone else could have been Romeo's killer. They've already assumed it was Bianchi. Me on the other hand, went back and ordered the security footage from the month before and the month after Romeo's death to determine any unusual behaviour or suspects."

"And did you?"

"Yeah, I think so. Here, take a look." Shamal messed around on his tablet again and then handed it to Hayato. Yamamoto shifted in his seat and moved closer, leaning over to get a view of the video too. Hayato sighed frustratingly at the close proximity, could smell that fresh soapy scent mixed in with Yamamoto's natural musk. He inhaled deeply but subtly, the smell of Yamamoto created a twinge of heat in stomach, a twitch in his dick but he refused to let himself give in. He wasn't going to pretend like everything was okay. He wasn't going to act oblivious to all the issues they had, to this situation. He wasn't Yamamoto.

Hayato leaned back and breathed slowly out through his mouth. He took the tablet, turned it and touched the **play** arrow on the screen. A video began playing, Hayato recognized the his father's lounge, the one he used his daughter to sing in dressed in scandalous and slinky, see-through outfits to bring in more clientele.

He saw Romeo at a VIP table surrounded by what Hayato assumed were Bovino family members and a man that looked very suspicious. The first thing Hayato noticed was that we was of some oriental decent, a mix breed like himself. That was rare enough, no family hired outsiders. The man was short and small in stature, hunched over and leering at his company. No one paid him much heed and Hayato assumed he was maybe a low ranked henchman. He was odd looking, and not just because of the almond shape to his eyes but the unruly sandy blond hair jutting out in every direction and the large ragged scar across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He was in almost every clip but was not after Romeo's disappearance. There were other faces Hayato recognized, he didn't see the half breed again after that.

"Who is that guy?" he asked.

"You saw it too, huh," Shamal commented, lighting a cigarette. He handed one to Hayato and Hayato took it gratefully. Yamamoto sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. Hayato cast a sidelong glance at him and he, surprisingly, looked like he was deep in thought.

"I don't know who he is," Shamal said with a shrug. "But he doesn't look like any Bovino member I've seen before."

"Well have you asked them?"

"That's what I plan on doing today, brat."

Hayato took a long drag of his cigarette. "Do you have a plan? Are we just going to walk in there and propose we have afternoon tea with the fuckers?"

Shamal rolled his eyes. "Well... I'm not exactly sure what we can do. They're pissed about the whole situation. They've had their time to grieve and now they're at the at the stage where they just want their revenge. They've got the proof that Romeo was poisoned and Bianchi's known as the Poison Scorpion, known for killing her previous three husbands. Under suspicion, anyways. As for a plan, I don't know. We've got the meeting set up, that's a start. We're just going to have to remain alert."

Hayato growled. "We're going in blindly then... What are you going to do if they're not willing to budge? I'd be walking into my own death trap."

Yamamoto's eyes went wide and Hayato heard him gulp loudly. "It'd be suicide," he whispered.

Shamal scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. The Bovino aren't barbarians, they're a reasonable and respectable family. If we go in there and act professionally, then I'm sure we'll get a positive response."

"You act as if this is some ordinary business proposal."

"It is," Shamal said. "It's not so much a proposal as it is a trade off. I've offered my services and evidence and they're going to allow you and your sister to live. It's simple."

"Yeah, well, I hope they see it as simple as you do. Does that bastard know what you're doing with his money and his men? Offering them and their time to a rival family?"

"Hayato, _I _am my own business man. I have people that work for me and my own personal funds. I don't need your father's permission."

"Well, technically you do, since he _is _the boss. He'd have your head if he knew you were offering to help the Bovino."

Shamal took a drag of his cigarette and glanced out the tinted window of the limousine. "It isn't to _help _the Bovino in any way, it's to save yours and your sister's useless lives, brat. Your father wouldn't say a damn thing."

Hayato followed Shamal's gaze out the window and sighed. "You sound like you're trying to convince yourself that that's true."

Shamal didn't reply and Hayato snubbed his cigarette out in the car ashtray. Sneering, he muttered smugly, "Heh, you've come a long way from when you first arrived in Japan threatening me to respect my father and move back to Italy to now undermining the Don and committing treason and breaking code."

Shamal reached out and slapped Hayato across the face. It was so quick he didn't even see it. He just heard the ringing in his ears and the sting on his cheek. His hand went up to feel the heat on his flesh and when he opened his eyes, Yamamoto had the tip of his sword pointed at Shamal's throat and Shamal had a gun pointed at Yamamoto's head.

"The fuck is with you two?" Hayato asked, leaning forward to swat away the weapons. Yamamoto blinked and his eyes widened. He quickly sheathed his katana and turned away in embarrassment.

"S-sorry, Shamal-san, I -"

"It's fine," Shamal cut in. "I'm relieved that you can protect that idiot with such good reflexes. You really do possess quite a natural skill."

"Hey, I can fucking take care of myself. And you should be apologizing to me," Hayato said, rubbing his cheek.

"You have no idea what I'm putting on the line for you, you stupid and ungrateful brat. I don't know what your problem is but since we've arrived in Italy, you've been acting like a spoiled child. Like the dirty fucking brat I saved from dying in a pile of garbage. Does your life mean nothing to you? How about your sister's?"

Shamal was right and Hayato couldn't even deny that. He _had _been acting like a child and he _did_ feel like that boy from long ago; the lost boy eating scraps from trash bins; using his body to get money, whether it be sexual or otherwise; wanting to kill or be killed. And he was so _young_, his childhood robbed from him the way his mother had been.

Hayato sat back in his seat as the limousine slowed to a stop. "I'm... I'm so-"

"Where the fuck are we?" Shamal cut in peering out through the window. He tapped on the partition glass and addressed the driver in Italian.

"Did you get lost, you incapable twat? This is no where near where we're supposed to be!" Shamal yelled, checking his watch. There wasn't a response that filtered through the glass or intercom. After a few seconds the car door slammed shut.

"What the hell is going on?" Hayato asked. Instinct made him reach for his gun and Yamamoto, who'd been watching him, reached for his weapon too.

"Don't get carried away," Shamal muttered. "He probably had to stop and take a piss or something."

"You're being too carefree," Hayato complained. "Open the door and let's see what's up."

"We should stay in the car," Yamamoto said.

"Are you kidding? We'd be sitting ducks."

"Shut up, you two. You guys stay here, I'm going to go find the driver." Shamal pulled out his gun and exited the car.

"Like hell I'm just gonna sit here," Hayato harped while checking the magazine. He went to open the door of the limo when Yamamoto grabbed his arm.

"Wait - it could be dangerous."

Hayato snapped his head back. "I _know _that! Let go of me!"

"I'm just worried about you getting hurt!" Yamamoto shouted. For once, Hayato could hear some anger laced in with his tone.

Hayato ripped his arm out of Yamamoto's grasp. "I don't need you okay? Stay out of my way!"

Yamamoto's widened and then narrowed and he drew his hand back tentatively. "If that's what you want," he says in a tired sigh.

Hayato leers at him and leaves the car. "It _is _what I want!" he screams as he slams the car door and then leans on it, letting out a painstakingly long sigh.

He hears a sharp _pew__!_ and looks up to see a single gunman standing in the middle of a long abandoned parking lot with a smoking barrel. It takes not even a blink of an eye before Hayato squeezes off a single round from his AutoMag and kills the sonofabitch. He watches as the man's lifeless body falls to the pavement and he quickly scans the area for any sign of other life, including Shamal's. He sees no one and fear rides it's way up and rests in his joints when he remembers _Yamamoto_.

He turns and rips the limousine door open and Yamamoto is already half out on the other side.

"Are you okay?!"

Hayato nods but frowns when he sees a slick stain on the arm of Yamamoto's blazer. "But you aren't. That bullet hit you, didn't it?"

Yamamoto looks down at his arm and steadies his sword. "It's nothing. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Shamal's missing and I just got shot at. We're about to get ambushed."

Hayato's eyes follow Yamamoto as he jogs around the limousine and suddenly he feels a surge of adrenaline and danger. This is what he's been looking for. A good gunfight to release all the pent up stress that sits uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

"Got any last words then, Cappa _trash_?"

Hayato whirls around to be face to face with the barrel of another gun and he's got enough time to grab the back of Yamamoto's jacket and pull him down into a crouching position before the bullet hits him. He whips out his gun and shoots the man twice in the abdomen and the man keels onto the pavement and lays there to bleed out.

"Yamamoto, I need you to go find Shamal."

Yamamoto grabs on to Hayato, panicked. "I'm not leaving you. What's going on, what'd he say?" His eyes are round and wide and frightened. It makes Hayato's heart melt a little because it makes him remember his previous perception of the man; his innocence and purity. The man he knew before he found out he was a _kille_r. It makes him want to kiss Yamamoto desperately but he remembers the sinking feeling he had when he saw Yamamoto in that classroom, drenched in blood holding a man's head in his hands with that malicious grin spread out on his face and he shudders. He angrily shoves Yamamoto away.

"I told you to stay out of my fucking way! Now just fucking listen to me, you bastard!"

And that's all Hayato manages before he's dodging a slew of bullets that pound into the metal of the limousine. He steals a quick look behind him and sees Yamamoto roll out of the way and it happens so fast that Hayato can't get a grip on what's happening here.

They're suddenly swarmed, dozens of men in suits and plain clothes with weapons from knives to guns and all of them have sneers tattooed on their faces. The space fills up with a murderous aura that lingers heavy in the air.

Hayato swivels around men, disarming them when he gets the chance, breaking bones and splitting lips and his own face gets smashed in the process. He's out of bullets and can't catch a break to reload.

Yamamoto is fairing better, he doesn't have a weapon to reload and his katana is long enough to reach the men in front of him with ease. Hayato gets a view of him when one of the men grab a handful of his hair and tugs his hair back, presses a knife into his throat.

Yamamoto slices through a man's abdomen, his blood and entrails pour out like he's committed seppuku. Hayato shudders and he tries to claw at the man who's got his hair and tries to kick at the man delivering blows to his stomach. He doesn't understand why there are so many men here for just the two of them and it makes him feel a little proud that he's managed to kill over half of them, most with his bare hands. But he's broken and bruised now and the guy with the knife to his throat is laughing maniacally as he saws further into Hayato's throat.

Yamamoto isn't close by and Hayato can't get his hands free and the burn in his neck is satisfying and terrifying all at the same time. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, because part of him is ready to take this short cut out of this miserable life but the other half of him doesn't want to give up.

Just as he's ready to accept his fate, he feels the man jerk behind him and the knife is off his throat. The man beating the shit out of him suddenly rockets to the left, blood spewing out of a bullet wound to his temple. Hayato falls to his knees without the support of either man that had been holding him before and he looks up in time to see Shamal blasting his way through the crowd of men with his twin double action Taurus Bull revolvers. He squeezes off round after round in smooth succession and Hayato remembers when he was young and Shamal used to take him to the shooting range to practice firing and his dynamite techniques. He looks _cool_, Hayato thinks and it makes him feel proud and nostalgic. Hayato chokes on a dry laugh. He's never been so happy to see that perverted bastard in his whole life.

Yamamoto is not far behind, slicing off limbs of any man that comes near, covering Shamal in such an honorable way. In a very true and _mafia _like way. He doesn't look like he's enjoying the kills, but the look on his face is one that sends chills down Hayato's spine. His eyes are narrowed and focused and his mouth is set in a thin pressed line. He looks like he's been doing this for years, he's a natural in every sense of the word. And for once, Hayato isn't scared of him, he isn't disgusted or put off by the man in front of him.

They reach Hayato in no time and from the looks of it, they've killed everyone. Somehow, by some miracle.

Yamamoto's eyes widen when he sees the blood streaming out of the wound in Hayato's neck and Shamal throws out a hand to help him up. Hayato grabs it and pulls himself to his feet.

"Where the fuck... did you go?" he wheezes.

"Hayato, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I chased down the limo driver. What the fuck is this?" Shamal asks, looking around at the macabre mass of limbless and bloodied bodies that littered the asphalt.

"Heh... That's my... line."

"How deep is that cut?" Yamamoto asks, reaching out to brush Hayato's hair out of the wound.

He flinches automatically, draws back and scowls. "I said I'm fine. Don't touch me."

Yamamoto's eyes narrow and he scowls while Shamal shoves his guns back into their holsters.

"Did you get the fucker?" Hayato asks, gingerly wiping blood off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah, he's in the trunk. I broke his arms and hands and put a pullet in each kneecap. He ain't goin' anywhere."

Hayato nods and begins limping towards the car. Yamamoto tries to grab his arm and support him but Hayato tears his arm away angrily. He knows, Yamamoto _knows _not to touch him so freely in fucking public, what if there are men still watching them; what if there is someone lying in wait to still attack them and they're waiting for the right moment to take Yamamoto down. Because aside from Shamal at the last minute, Yamamoto did the most damage.

"Stop it!" he growls through gritted teeth. "I can fucking walk on my own, you bastard!"

"Gokudera, I -"

"Ugh you idiot! You're always in my fucking way!"

Yamamoto whirls around and the look he wears makes Hayato's heart skip a beat and not in a good way. "I'm getting real tired of your fucking insults," he growls in a rancorous tone.

"Stop arguing and focus, you idiots." Shamal mutters.

"Yeah well, if you're so tired of it then why don't you just leave!"

"I would if I didn't make a promise to protect you!" Yamamoto shouts back, ignoring Shamal.

"I don't need you to protect me! I don't need someone I can't trust to watch my back, you bastard!"

The sudden gunfire was deafening, Hayato could barely hear Yamamoto's words floating over the noise. He could see Yamamoto's face, and his mouth was wrung into a wavering line and Hayato could see his eyes glossy wet.

Shamal turns in the direction of the gunfire, pulling out a stick of dynamite and lighting it off the cigarette dangling from his mouth. "I knew these fuckers weren't finished yet! Get to the fucking car, I'll handle this!"

A loud crackle and boom follows Shamal's toss of the dynamite and the ground shakes underneath their feet. Over the roaring sound, Hayato hears a single _pop! _that he recognises as a gun shot. His eyes dart around to find the source of the gunshot; it sounded too close for comfort.

He sees the man behind Yamamoto, walking through the black cloud of smoke, his shot gun raised and a cold leer on his face. Hayato whips out his gun and levels his arm on Yamamoto's shoulder to get a clear shot. He squeezed off two rounds in short succession and the both bullets lodged successfully in the center of the man's forehead.

He pulls back with an accomplished smirk as Shamal finishes up the last sea of remaining men to filter into the parking lot from an unseen location.

"Shit that was-"

His gloat was smothered in a strangled and gargling cough and something warm mottled his cheeks. He opens his eyes to see Yamamoto's face twisted in agony, his full lips painted in slick red. His pallor is suddenly ashen and the usual glint in his hazel eyes has gone flat.

Hayato's heart stops and his stomach plummets to the ground. Dread fills his entire body, making him stiff and cold. "Yama..." His eyes flow wide and Yamamoto chokes again, splattering Hayato's face with more of his blood. He takes a step forward and collapses on top of Hayato, causing him to fall back on his behind.

"Yamamoto?" Hayato slaps him frantically because Yamamoto's weight is too heavy, like _dead_ weight and he isn't moving. "Yamamoto, get up."

Shamal looks behind him, his eyes wide and he drops the last sticks of dynamite in his hands before he runs over to where Hayato is sitting on the floor with a prone Yamamoto in his lap.

"Oi, you bastard! Get up! Stop fucking around, you're heavy!"

Yamamoto doesn't move and Hayato can't hear him breathing, can't feel the rise and fall of his back against his hand and he feels something warm and wet seeping through his clothes. Hayato's insides are like ice and he can't breathe. He's panicking, he feels sick.

"Shamal!" Hayato cries out, desperate. "Yamamoto's been shot!"

Shamal reaches them and doesn't speak but he grabs Yamamoto by the shoulders and hoists him off Hayato. The sudden movement wakes Yamamoto out of his short coma and he starts choking on the blood bubbling in his throat and foaming out of his mouth. Hayato feels a hard lump in his throat when he looks up and sees the gaping hole in Yamamoto's torso, the white dress shirt he's wearing has been torn to shreds and Hayato can see that the bullet wound was a through and through.

"Get to the car, we have to get out of here," Shamal orders.

"He needs medical attention," Hayato gasps, his lungs desperate for air but he can't seem to catch any.

"I don't treat men," Shamal says simply as he drags Yamamoto to the limosuine. Hayato scurries to his feet, almost tripping over a dead man with one leg and an opened gut.

"Not now! Don't fuck with me Shamal!" Hayato screams. "You save his fucking life, you sonofabitch!"

"He's probably going to die," Shamal says coolly. "There's shrapnel inside, it's probably torn through some vital organs, which is why he's coughing up blood."

In a sudden fit of rage, Hayato pulls out his gun, cocks it and puts it against Shamal's temple. "You fucking save him, you bastard." It's the closest thing to a plea that he'll ever muster and even though his tone is cold and flat, it's agonizing and full of supplication.

"You don't even have a bullet to shoot me with, you stupid little brat. God fucking dammit, I am so sick of cleaning up your goddamned messes. So tired of being your fucking babysitter. Get in the fucking car."

Hayato lets out a heavy huff of breath and shoves his gun back into the holster and helps Shamal put Yamamoto into the backseat of the limo.

"Well?" Hayato asks indignantly. He takes a minute to look at Yamamoto's pale face, the stark shiny red contrasting against his skin in a ghastly way that makes Hayato almost throw up. He can't lose this stupid bastard, not here, not now, not in this sort of way. Just looking at him like this, Hayato's resentment and hate melts away and for the first time since being in Italy, he's ready to admit that he's scared. He's scared of turning into who he once was, he's scared of Yamamoto changing for the worst. He's scared of _this_; losing Yamamoto because of something that's entirely his fault. He's been trying to push Yamamoto away because of this, because if something like this happened it wouldn't hurt so much but it fucking _does_. It grips his heart tightly and squeezes and puts such a heavy weight on his chest. The lump in his throat gets larger, so much so that he can't swallow nor breathe. He's trembling from fear and leftover adrenaline and not even a cigarette would be enough to steady his shaky hands.

It's none of Yamamoto's fault, this isn't his fault - he isn't mad at him at all really. If anything, Hayato loves him _too_ much, more than his own life and anyone else's that he could think of to sacrifice in his place. _I can't let you go, you stupid bastard, so don't you fucking die on me._ Not now, not after everything they've already been through.

"Drive the car to the castle. It's the only place that has the proper equipment needed for pulling the debris out. I'll stay back here and try to stop the bleeding. But... I can't guarantee he'll make it past the drive home."

Hayato's heart finally bursts under the all that agonizing pressure.

_This is my karma, isn't it... for being in love with you, a killer. And this is **your **karma, isn't it, Yamamoto? For being in love with me. _


	4. Book II : My Saviour : Chapter III

**Warning : **This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, blood/gore and death. To avoid this paragraph, it begins with the start of Gokudera's dream and ends with "and that's when Hayato wakes up."

* * *

_**Chapter III**_

* * *

_Vision without action is a daydream. Action without vision is a nightmare._

_- __Japanese P__roverb_

"Do you need anything, Master Luciano? A change of clothes... perhaps?"

Hayato looked over at one of the many servants that serviced his father's castle and shook his head. "Where is my father?" He _should_ want clean clothes and a shower. He was covered in dirt and gunpowder and blood.

Yamamoto's blood.

"The _Don_ is out on business, but my lady Elena is in her quarters. I will request an audience if you wish."

Hayato waved a dismissive hand. "No, thank you. I don't wish to see her at all, so please keep my stay here quiet."

The servant nodded. "As you wish, _principe__._" He stood there in the doorway of Hayato's room for further instruction but Hayato waved his hand again.

"That's all."

Hayato will never get used to being called such names of hierarchy. He's never been a master or prince of this household. When the maids and servants and cooks saw him suffer at the hands of his mother or sister they never interfered. When they saw bruises on his face or his refusal to eat anything in case it was going to make him sick or when he cried for hours because he was _lonely _and just wanted someone to play with, well... They never treated him like royalty _then_. They only ever addressed him in such a manner because he was the son of their boss, the Don of the largest and most influential mafia family in Sicily. They _had _to respect him but they didn't _have _to give a fuck about him.

The servant nodded and bowed as he took his leave. As soon as he shut the door Hayato collapsed on to his bed and sank into the mattress as the goose down duvet swallowed him like the giant mouth of hell that this was. His head was spinning and he didn't have it in him to keep his composure anymore. He felt sick to his stomach as waves of nostalgia flooded him.

This room, his childhood room that was still exactly the way he left it, brought back too many painful memories. So many days and nights he spent here; too ill to play because of his sister and her poisonous cooking she'd force down his throat, or the bruises and split lips given to him by his step mother that were too unsightly for visitors to see on a child. Many days he spent never being allowed to leave his room and he didn't understand it then but he knew now. It was because he wasn't full blooded Italian, the slight almond shape to his eyes and his fair skin was a tell tale sign that he didn't belong to his parents. Not both of them anyways. Not when he stood next to Bianchi and the only similarity between them was the colour of their eyes, and even then they were different. Bianchi's were olive, nearly hazel while Hayato's were sharp green; like peridot stone. And his hair, given to him by his mother, was a sparkling silver silk that was too fine and straight to be fully European. It wasn't his father's black hair and it wasn't his "mother's" auburn hair. He looked nothing like either or them and that was an embarrassment to his family. Hayato was kept in his room like the dirty little secret he was and the only freedom he saw was when Shamal came or his piano teacher; which he later learned was his mother _and _Shamal's lover.

And not only did this room make him sick because it reminded him of the times Bianchi poisoned him or his step mother beat him but it reminded him of Mukuro too. That all too realistic dream he had of the two of them in this bed, a glimpse of what his future could have been had he not run away.

But could it have been a future? _Would _it have been a future? Hayato wasn't really sure but there was something there, some kind of feeling that gnawed at the back of his cerebral cortex and in the depths his heart; something that told him there was more there to him and Mukuro that he didn't know. How was it possible to have these feelings for someone he _hates _but once cared enough about to protect him from his father? To _cry _for a strange little boy's life.

All these questions unanswered bothered him a lot but it's not like there was anything he could do. Mukuro was dead and he'd never know what Mukuro truly felt towards him. He'd never know if he was a pawn in Mukuro's overall agenda or if he really cared about Hayato the way he said he had.

It didn't matter, because he had Yamamoto and Yamamoto was in the here and now; bloodied and dying and _he _should be the one who's on Hayato's mind but he isn't. Instead he's thinking of some pineapple snake and what it would feel like to have that monochromatic hair between his fingers.

Hayato shuddered. He was supposed to love Yamamoto, wasn't he? He was sure that he did; he was the first person he's ever felt this way about but if that was the case why did he feel so _angry _whenever he thought about him?

He wanted to be by his side, he was worried about him and he was angry with the men that ambushed him; but all those emotions have long since dissipated when Shamal forced him out of the medical facility on the castle grounds and told him there wasn't _anything _he could do. Of course he felt useless, of course he felt weak and what's worse was he felt like he was to blame for everything but there was no sense in him moping around.

He needed to get up and do something but the strange thing was the sanctity of his over sized bed was starting to lull him to sleep. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he should hate this room and hate this castle and hate his entire fucking universe. But fleeting thoughts of being with Yamamoto and strangely _Mukuro_ were making his lids feel heavy. He was exhausted, body and mind, and if he could just sleep then maybe he'd have a clearer head after, _maybe_.he'd be able to sort his feelings out then.

But falling asleep meant having those dreams and he was fucking _terrified_ of which ones he'd be having this time. There weren't any distractions this time. No whiskey, no Yamamoto, no escape.

And with that thought, Hayato fell asleep.

_Hayato__awakens __but __is __not __surprised __to __find __himself __in __the __dilapidated __Kokuyou__High __building__. __His __memory __is __sharp __and __he __retains __this __memory __all __too __well__. __It's __a __catalyst __for __where __everything __went __wrong__._

_He can already feel the damp cold soaking through his leather jacket and seeping into his bones. His hair is matted to his head and neck in thick, ropey clumps and the tips have already started to freeze. His breath comes out in plumes of white air and his teeth won't stop chattering. __His __feet __slosh __in __his __wet __Doc __Martens __when __he __takes __that __first __hesitant __step __up __the __second flight of stairs to the imminent horror show that awaits him in the last classroom. He knows what's going to happen and by any means he should turn around and go the other way, run as fast as he can out of the building and away from the horrible truth of this nightmare. Except he can't fight the inevitable. He will walk up those stairs and along the darkened corridor to the last class room on the left where he will ultimately meet his untimely death and none other than Yamamoto will be the one to take it._

_In reality, here is where he would have been woken by __Mukuro__, fixating on the silver trident __Mukuro__ wore around his neck when he first opens his eyes from yet another nightmare. The one that proved to him that somewhere in his fucked up mind he had feelings for __Mukuro__ too. Maybe not feelings, but he didn't have to be Freud to know that dreaming about being stuck between two men and forced to choose was in someway showing he was conflicted between the two._

_And after __Mukuro__ wakes him, __Hayato__ tells him he knows; he _remembers _what__Mukuro__ means to him and had it not been for the gun shots, Hayato would have embarked on a long and lecherous (and partially satisfactory) journey on the path of hell labeled Rokudo Mukuro. _

_Upon hearing the gunshots they hurry towards the room and are met __withthe__ slaughter of __Tomakazu__ and his gang of __yakuza__ thugs; what's left of the __Hakai __Dīrā__. Yamamoto will drop his sword and beg for __Hayato's__ forgiveness and __Mukuro__ will try to provoke him and __Hayato__ will protect __Mukuro__ when Yamamoto lashes out. And then all hell will break loose when __Hayato_can't_choose. The storm outside will cause the building to sway and __Hayato__ will shoot __Mukuro__ for interfering. The floor will open and swallow __Mukuro__ in darkness and __Hayato__ will __forgive Yamamoto__ because he's an idiot. He doesn't have time to reflect because it's then that he passes out from the head injury he sustained earlier and Yamamoto rescues them from the crumbling structure._

_Except that isn't how _this_dream pans out. This dream __Hayato__ meets Yamamoto alone and Yamamoto has had his fun in killing everyone. When __Hayato__ says he can't forgive him and that they can never be together after this, Yamamoto concedes and proceeds to tell him that if _he_can't have __Hayato__, then no one else will. __Hayato__ doesn't see nor feel the blade as it cuts through his neck with lightening speed. And then something weird happens. He can see himself - his head - being caught in Yamamoto's bloodied hands and cradled like a new born baby. He can _see_all this as if he were still standing in the same spot, with his head still attached to his neck. Yamamoto sinks to the floor that's painted in blood and strokes __Hayato's__ silver hair while he sings him an eerie lullaby and it's then that __Hayato__ wakes up._

_During this time, because this time is different - it feels like a dream within a dream within a memory and fuck if that doesn't fuck with your mind on a scale of pure __fuckery__ - but this time, __Hayato__ has somewhat of a revelation. What if he doesn't say those things to Yamamoto? What if he tells him that he does forgive him and that they can move on from this; that they'll _try_to move on from this together. Because that's what __Hayato__ really wants. He just wants to stop fighting with himself, he's so tired of running and fighting and being angry. If he can just tell Yamamoto that then maybe he'll get to live and maybe he'll stop having this fucking horrible nightmare._

_He clambers up the slippery stairs and remembers to hold on to the rickety railing because the last time he fell and hit his head. He gets to the landing and everything is dark except for the tiniest sliver of moonlight that sneaks it's way in through a crack in the plywood covering the broken window. He searches his person but has no weapon and it's not like it would do him any good anyways. He can't stop what's about to happen._

_Hayato__ inches closer to the classroom and there's not a single sound to be heard anywhere. It's like he's gone deaf because he knows he should be hearing the howling of the wind outside, or the gnarly tree branches that remind him of long bony fingers ready to snag your soul the second you die here scraping against a window pane; or he should be hearing the cries of __Tomakazu__ and his men echoing in the halls but instead he hears nothing, which makes it all the more unsettling. _

_He stops just as he gets to the last classroom. It's dark in there too, but not that dark because he remembers the hole in the roof and the moonlight that shines down on Yamamoto like a spotlight; like a message from the heavens saying 'here he is; this sinner and saint.' He's put out on display and __Hayato__ has to pass __judgment__, doesn't he? All the other times he chooses the right path, he's sure. He's a man of the law and Yamamoto has broken it; it's not about sinning and it doesn't matter that these men were responsible for Yamamoto's mother's death and that they're hardcore criminals; it doesn't give Yamamoto the right to take matters into his own hands like some do-__gooder__, like a fucking __vigilant saint because he isn't one! He was out for revenge, blood-thirsty and power-hungry and _that_makes him a criminal. Isn't that right, __Hayato__?_

Isn't that right... Hayato?

_Hayato__ draws in a breath and steps inside the classroom and sees the broad back of the man he just wants to be able to love freely and this time, __Hayato's__ a little early because a man kneels in front of him while Yamamoto's blade rests in his right hand. He doesn't hear the man beg for his life nor does he hear Yamamoto say a word. He can't move a muscle, stationary in the doorway, and watches in horror as Yamamoto's left hand tugs at the head and he sees him raise his __katana__. __Hayato__ screams for him to stop but no sound comes out, he tries to step forward but his legs are leaden._

_And that's when he sees it, but it's already too late. Just as Yamamoto brings down his sword, he sees that long, spiraling blue tail; the one that belongs to a snake. He watches but can't do a fucking thing about it as Yamamoto slices through __Mukuro's__ pale neck like a knife would through softened butter. _

_Hayato's__ lungs seize up and his heart clinches. He clutches his chest because everything becomes tight and suffocating and he's not sure what about the macabre scene in front of him hurts him more. _

_But he's got no time to think about that because __Mukuro's__ head is already at his feet and __Hayato's__ mouth __opens__ in a silent scream, for __Mukuro's__ eyes are gouged out and he's staring into pits of bloody darkness; empty orbital sockets, torn flesh frayed and red ribbons streaming down his pale face, staining his pale pink lips. He's screaming, he can feel his throat dry and hoarse and he feels sick to his stomach and then he's crying because who is this_ monster_in front of him?_

"That eye... it's abominable... it disgusts me."

_Hayato__ remembers Yamamoto's words clearly when he cut open __Mukuro's__ red eye, when __Mukuro__ tried to protect him. The hate __Hayato__ could hear seething in Yamamoto's tone had sent shivers down his spine._

_Hayato__ can feel something smooth and cold and suddenly there's a gun in his hand. His hand is trembling because here he needs to make the choice, here he needs to put down a monster._

_Yamamoto turns and __Hayato__ catches a glimpse of __Mukuro's__ headless body, the stump of his neck sinister red and ragged and drowning in a torrent of blood. The arterial spray is nothing but spurts and bits of marrow and __Hayato__ can feel a chill at the nape of his own neck. The lifeless body falls forward and hits the floor with a dull thud. His eyes go wide because Yamamoto looks like the epitome of _insane_. His eyes are wildly wide and __Mukuro__ is splattered all over his face. His hair is tangled and clothes are disheveled, soaked through with sin and he grins. He grins maniacally and then he _cackles_, unlike anything __Hayato__ has ever heard before. This isn't Yamamoto, this is someone else. This is Yamamoto _possessed_ by something insidious and evil. _

_He takes his first step forward and __Hayato__ is shaking. He knows what's coming next. _

_"**Off with her head!"** he thinks real quick; the Red Queen of Wonderland's voice echoes loudly between his ears._

_Yamamoto's eyes are flat, he's licking the blood off his lips and smiling through it all. The __katana__ is dirty and doesn't shine at all, not like the bone white sheen it had moments before. __Hayato__ tries to reason with him but he hasn't found his voice yet but Yamamoto doesn't seem to __recognize__ him. He's too far gone to even know. He grins like he knows something, cunning and devious like the Cheshire cat and raises his blade._

_Hayato's__ hands are trembling but he points the gun at Yamamoto. It isn't Yamamoto, it's someone else. __Hayato__ is a cop, a man of the law and he will deliver justice. He's doing it to protect himself, even though this is a dream he doesn't want to suffer the same fate as __Mukuro__. And without a second thought, __Hayato's__ finger closes around the trigger and he squeezes. Once, twice, three times. He instantly feels the recoil and the gun blast is the first bit of noise he's heard since he entered this dream, it leaves a heavy ringing in his ears. _

_The bullets hit Yamamoto in the gut and he drops his sword. For a second he laughs but when he moves his hand away from the wound to see his palm covered in blood he looks up at __Hayato__ with wide eyes and that's when __Hayato's__ heart stops because it's in those eyes he sees _his_Yamamoto. _

_He drops the gun and Yamamoto staggers over to him, weaponless, __defenseless__. He grabs __Hayato__ by the shoulder and pulls him tightly to his chest. He smells of death and regret. __Hayato__ can feel the burn of tears streaming down his cheeks but he can't wake up. He's internally screaming but he can't wake up. This isn't his fault, this isn't his Yamamoto..._

_Hayato__ can't help but put his arms around him. He's mouthing 'I'm sorry' but no sound comes out and he wants to kiss him, do anything to let him know that he's sorry, sorry for _everything_. He didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't want for any of this to happen. But he can't bring himself to put his lips on Yamamoto's tainted skin. _

_Yamamoto's lips brush the shell of his ear and his breath is ragged and shallow but it's warm and __Hayato__ misses the way it feels on his flesh when he whispers 'I love you' when they're close and intimate and everything's right in the world. In _his_world._

_Yamamoto takes in a deep breath and __Hayato__ just knows it's his last._

_"Thank... you," he exhales and drops to his knees. _

_And that's when __Hayato__ wakes up._

Hayato awakes and this time his vocal chords are working and he lets out a blood curdling cry. He's drenched in cold sweat and he can smell the heavy metallic scent of death and he can't choke down the bile that rises and spews out of his mouth. He doesn't stop throwing up until he's gagging and heaving and tears are streaming down his face.

He's hyperventilating, it's been a long time since he's had one of these attacks. He touches his hair, his clothes the sheets of his bed, frantic but he can't breathe relief yet. He's in his childhood room in Italy, not back in Kokuyou High. Yamamoto is alive and...

"_Thank... y__ou.__"_

Hayato shakes his head violently, tries to rid himself of the ghastly images that plague him. His chest _hurts _and it's not from the wheezing because it's where his heart is; heavy and tight. Yamamoto _should _be alive, but that dream was a metaphor, mirroring the Yamamoto that lay prone in some hospital cot while Shamal dug slugs out of his gut. Maybe not a metaphor but perhaps an _omen._

_He's __going __to __be __okay__, __he __isn't __going __to __die__._

_"__Thank... __you__."_

Hayato jolts out of bed and crashes through his doorway. He takes off running, trying to remember how to get to the medical facility through the maze of hallways leading through the castle. He hits a couple of dead ends and rooms he doesn't know the functions for and all he can do is spit out curses. Suddenly remembering the way he came in, Hayato turns on his heel and bolts down another corridor, nearly crashing into some old maids.

_"_W-was that young master?"

"It seems nothing's changed, barging through the halls like that!"

_"_Just like when he was a child!"

Shamal had basically kicked him out of the medical facility and looking back on it now, Hayato can understand why. He was being irrational, freaking out at the staff who took Yamamoto out of the limousine and snapping at Shamal. He was overrun with fear and it was making him crazy. By the time they had arrived at the castle, Yamamoto's breath had gotten shallow and his pulse had already become weak. And all he could think was _It's __my __fault__, __it's __my __fault__, __it's __my __fault__._

And it was his fault. If he hadn't been arguing with Yamamoto they would have been more alert. Yamamoto wouldn't have been in front of him trying to get Hayato to pay attention to him. He would have never been here in the first place.

Finally he makes it outdoors and a blast of cold January air smacks him in the face. He instantly feels the chill through his sweat soaked shirt. Italy in the winter doesn't remind him of home.

_"Maybe we'll go to the __Oshōgatsu__ festival together. You can bring Yamamoto-__san__ too!"_

Hayato races across the lawn towards the smaller building on the castle grounds.

"Sorry Tenth, maybe some other time," he mutters regrettably.

He only hoped that Yamamoto made it through for another New Years, and this time Hayato was going to make it better than this one. No motel rooms and heavy tension, just fun times and the people he cared about. He was sure that the Tenth would be happy to hear he was okay and he was sure he'd be able to smooth things over with him. Even if he couldn't return to Japan, he wasn't going to give Tsuna up that easily.

He reaches the medical building, gasping and wheezing and bangs on the doors. A security clearance card was needed to get into the building and he obviously didn't have one. It's a few minutes of consistent rapping and finally a tall man in a suit and shades opens the door and points a gun in his face.

"What is your business here?" he asks sternly.

Hayato smacks the gun out of his face, annoyed. "Let me in you bastard, I'm here to see Shamal."

"You little-"

"Nogerelli, it's fine. Let him through."

Hayato peers through the doorway to see Shamal standing in his lab coat stained with blood. Hayato's eyes widen in horror at the sight as the guard moves out of the way. There's _so much blood_ and Hayato thinks he's going to develop a phobia for it soon because he sees the colour red more times than he sees the light of day and it's nothing but bad memories and terrifying dreams.

"Get to know your superiors, that's the boss' son," Shamal chides when Hayato is through the door.

The man holsters his gun and scowls. "S-sorry, sir."

Shamal glares at him and nods his head and the guard isn't as stupid as Hayato thinks, he gets the point.

"I'll resume my post elsewhere," he grunts, leaving the foyer.

Once he was out of ear shot, Hayato grabs Shamal's lab coat a little too desperately. "Yamamoto, is he-"

Shamal swats his hand away and brushes off his jacket. "He's stable."

Hayato lets out a long winded sigh of relief, his hands and legs tremble and he craves madly for a cigarette.

"You didn't fix your face," Shamal remarks, pushing Hayato towards double French doors. He can see the sterile white walls beyond the windows and his knees begin to feel like jelly.

"I don't care about that right now," Hayato snarls, consciously wiping the crusted blood off his split lips with the back of his hand.

"You didn't bandage the wound on your neck either." Shamal pushes through the doors and waits for Hayato to walk through them.

"I don't care about that right now," Hayato repeats, following Shamal up a fluorescent white corridor.

"You don't seem like you've calmed down. Do I have to kick your ass out of here again?"

Hayato frowns and shakes his head. "I'm fine. I just... I just want to see if the idiot's okay."

Shamal smirks. "What an adorable face. It's disgusting."

"Shut up, you stupid pervert. How is he?"

"Well, the bullet didn't do much damage except tear through his body. The shrapnel did a lot more damage but, nothing we weren't able to fix but... Listen, Hayato... You should prepare yourself when you go in there."

Hayato eyes the doctor suspiciously. "Is he dead?"

"I already told y-"

"Well then I'm fine. Just fucking take me there."

Shamal nods and they walk down another corridor. This time they pass a few nurses who gape in mock horror at the state of Hayato and more so when Shamal was tries to flirt with them.

"Take this a little more seriously, asshole. I can't believe you have a job here at all. Or that anyone would _want _to work here."

"It's simple really. I _don't _actually work here. I mean, I'm a brilliant doctor, but my real job is your father's right hand. Ah, here we are." Shamal stops in front of a closed door and Hayato legs begin to wobble again. What lay beyond that door dredged a fear that was thick like sewer sludge in the pit of his stomach. He chokes down the vile burn that rises up his throat, granted there's nothing he could possibly have left to expel.

_Just __breathe__._

Shamal opens the door and patiently waits for Hayato to enter first.

"Now, he's not in a coma. He's just unconscious from all the medication. He probably won't be lucid any time soon," the doctor said.

Hayato nods and closes his eyes as steps inside the hospital room. When he opens them, it's something like time is suddenly moving remarkably slow and he's caught on the pendulum that refused to swing in either direction. He can sense the joints of his knees weakening, but he couldn't falter, not in front of Shamal.

Yamamoto, who had sun kissed skin that was smooth and smelled of life, lay the hospital bed covered up by stark white except Hayato can barely recognize him beyond the sheets. His pallor is pale,_so pale_, that Hayato has a had time believing he's even alive. The only thing that reminds him is the steady pulsing emitting from the various electronic machines and the myriad of tubing that web across his body. He was there, unconscious but _alive _but he looked so _dead_. This wasn't the Yamamoto Hayato was used to seeing. This wasn't the Yamamoto he wanted to see at all.

This can't be real, it can't be. He's stable but he looks like he's _dying_. His face his ashen, sunken and hollow and he's stable but this isn't the face he makes when he sleeps. It's warm and goofy, and an innocent child-like grin that rests easy on his lips. Instead his face is twisted in agony and Hayato wishes he would just wake up already. This feeling is too much for his heart to handle, he feels like he's drowning far below to the depths of the ocean where the weight of it all starts to weigh heavily on his chest.

_"__I'm __okay__,__" _Yamamoto's voice echoes from a time where things were simpler; when Hayato had first let his guard down.

_"You're not okay. If I hadn't been there you'd probably be dead and I'd be investigating your fucking murder. You're not very smart, are you?"_

He isn't very smart. He's gone and gotten himself injured again, and this time Hayato isn't a cop investigating who'd be investigating his would be murder. He isn't a cop who's just met an young and attractive reporter and is just slightly smitten. Now he's a fugitive, a criminal and mafioso, and he has never felt so strongly about another person than the way he feels about Yamamoto. He knows this because as the saying goes, _you never know what you had until it's gone_ and Yamamoto isn't gone yet, but he came pretty damn close _again. _It's unfortunately a high price to pay but it's all Hayato needs to wake him up. It's all Hayato needs to realize that he's indeed in love with Yamamoto and there isn't a single doubt.

Shamal's hand suddenly claps down on his shoulder, jolting him out of his state of shock. "Oi, brat. Are you listening to me?"

Hayato looks over at Shamal, blinking his eyes like his vision was a viewfinder out of focus and he was trying to get a clearer picture of what he saw in front of him. He can't stop thinking this feels like a dream and he knows it's only denial but his brain just isn't ready to accept it yet.

"H-huh?"

Shamal rolls his eyes. "I've been giving you his prognosis since we walked into the room. You got all spacey on me and I bet you haven't heard a word I've said."

"Oh," Hayato said. It felt like he was having some sort of outer body experience, like he wasn't really there even though his feet were planted on the hard tile and the only sound that filled his ears were the beeping of the machines.

A pregnant silence fills the space and Hayato can't tear his eyes off Yamamoto, studying everything about him like he's looking for some reason to believe this isn't him; maybe it's a case for an invasion of the body snatchers, some kind of extraterrestrial being, an _interloper _lying here in this bed and not _his _Takeshi.

_This __is _your_fault__. __You __should __have __known __better __than __to __bring __someone __this __green __into__ this __world__._

Shamal sighs and claps him on the back. "It's a new art form, showing people how little we care."

"What?"

"You aren't a conformist, are you? You stinkin' brat."

Hayato looks back at the doctor and blinks through the process of deciphering whatever cryptic bullshit Shamal is spouting.

Shamal then shrugs and grabs hold of the door handle. "The beginning is easy, Hayato. It's continuing that's hard."

Hayato still doesn't understand a word of what Shamal is trying to say but he lets it go with a haphazard shrug. His brain isn't ready to work yet, it isn't ready to process anything because it's still trying to absorb everything in front of him.

"Oh, Mariella! I haven't seen you in a while, sweetie. Why don't you come over to my place-"

Hayato hears the echo of a slap from the halls before Shamal shuts the door behind him. And something like when the door slams shut it opens up the floodgates; overwhelming emotion crashing into him with such a force, it finally forces his knees to buckle and give way and can't find the will to remain standing.

He reaches out and grabs hold of the hard plastic edge of the hospital bed and fights to just _breathe__. _It's something akin to drowning he reckons, like sinking far beneath the surface to have no escape, just the dark depth of an ocean's crushing pressure. He clutches his chest because there isn't anything else he can do and this god forsaken shirt is too fucking tight and this room's air is too thick and_ fuck it's all my fault_.

He knows Yamamoto isn't dead but that isn't the point, he could have died and this was the very thing Hayato was trying to avoid. He's the very thing Hayato was trying to protect. And maybe it sounds stupid, maybe it sounds _weak _but it doesn't change the fact that this is what he _feels_. He can tell himself and everyone else that he doesn't give a shit about Yamamoto but he does and this rips him in half.

_"It's a new art form, showing people how little we care."_

And now Shamal's message makes perfect fucking sense, like a light bulb that goes off in his head. He braces himself and stands shakily (_get a fucking grip, Hayato_) and sucks in a deep breath but when he catches another glimpse of Yamaomto's pale and twisted face the air gets caught underneath the jagged lump that's formed in his throat. And he tries to shake it off because fuck, getting so overemotional over something like this, he isn't _dead_.

The thought causes a strained bubble of cynical laughter to erupt and fumble off his lips. "You stupid idiot... You can't even die properly." He moves closer, _dares_ to get closer because he wants to reach out and touch him. The warmth that radiates off Yamamoto _always_ will reassure him; that's how it's always been. Yamamoto's warmth will always fucking save him from his despair and how could he ever be so stupid to think otherwise?

He starts with just his fingertips, gentle and tentative, easing them down to rest on Yamamoto's cheek. The burning sting of tears don't surprise him because Yamamoto _is_ warm and he can finally breathe that sigh of relief because everything will be fine. It comes in crashing waves, a force so strong that Hayato has to steady himself again on his feet and grip the railing for support. He laughs again, but it comes out like a dry wheeze and he slides his hand up Yamamoto's face to card through his hair and rests his head against Yamamoto's forehead.

"You're so... s-stupid," he chokes but he's not really sure if he's talking to Yamamoto or if he's talking to himself. _I__'m sorry, you stupid bastard. _

When a single tear escapes, Hayato sniffles and composes himself because yeah, he doesn't cry even if there isn't anyone there to watch him. But he _does _shamelessly indulge in wrapping himself around Yamamoto in as good of an embrace as any and does what he's been wanting to do since he had that nightmare. To just give in and kiss him; to let him know everything _is okay_ and it's in that kiss he places gingerly over Yamamoto's mouth that he assures himself of exactly the same thing.

He ignores the aching pain in his spine from the awkward angle he's bent at and rests his head on Yamamoto's chest and listens to the slow and soft thud of his chest matching the rhythm of the electrocardiogram. When the silence becomes a little too much, Hayato feels like he needs to confess, like he needs to take this heavy weight off his chest. He _owes _that much to Yamamoto. And what better time when he can't hear a word of it, and as shameful as that sounds, Hayato will make it up to him when he wakes up. He _swears_ he will.

He inhales deeply and begins.

"I've been really... scared since coming into this world... It's a life I tried to leave behind because nothing good comes out of it. I was afraid of becoming my old self and what's worse was... I was afraid of what you would become. I want you to be who you are, don't you get it? I don't need you to protect me, to _kill _for me. What I need is for you to be that stupid, brainless baseball idiot who thinks the whole fucking world is a joke. Even when I get mad at you for it, that's who I want you to be. And I swear to you once this is all over... Once we've survived this bullshit because we fucking _will_, that I am going to take you away from here and we're going to live a life full of stupid bullshit like winter festivals with the Tenth and eat sushi with your dad and just not have to deal with any of this fucking mafia shit."

_Beep... beep... beep..._

"And I... I'm sorry for throwing a temper tantrum... for throwing _many_ and taking all my anger out on you and letting something like this... happen to you. When I think about it, pushing you away isn't protecting you and it's not protecting myself. I think we'd be stronger if... ugh, still kills me to say it but... I think we'd be stronger if we worked... together." He straightens up and hears his spine crack over the noise that's coming from the machines. He steals a glance at Yamamoto's face and there's still a twinge of guilt that stabs him in the gut when he's reminded that Yamamoto isn't really _sleeping_, he had to be put out with pain medication. Hayato won't ever get rid of this image, and he'll certainly remember it every time he fights with Yamamoto. Even if his words prove to be empty promises later, the point is there's conviction in them now.

He brushes Yamamoto's hair again, more affectionately than he ever has and traces over Yamamoto's features with ring-laden fingers. He comes across the scar on his chin and frowns, another reminder of just how much Yamamoto has been through since they've met. How much they've both been through.

_"__Gokudera__... Can I kiss you?"_

The hairs on the back of his neck raise and his skin prickles and he can still feel the heat of Yamamoto's tongue on his. That greedy passion he first felt when he finally gave in.

_But __all __this has __happened __because __I __gave __in__..._

Hayato sits on a stool beside the bed, rubs his face with his hands tiredly and just contemplates everything. The world seems to stand still but everything is going by so fast and he just wants some time to think.

Yamamoto is peace, he's happiness, he's stupid and oblivious... But he doesn't understand that the way that his kindness is a weapon, like a virus. He doesn't understand that someone like him can so easily pierce the heart of another and spread through their veins infecting-

"And now that it's there I can't cure it, Yamamoto. You bastard... What have you done to me?"

_Beep__... __Beep__... __Beep__._

"The weight of your kindness crushed me and... That's why I broke."

Hayato frowned. "This is the part where you wake up and make some cheesy remark that makes me want to punch your face in... A-any time now, a-asshole."

_Beep__.._. _Beep__..._

"Pathetic." He wasn't sure if he meant himself or the situation.

But looking at Yamamoto prone in the hospital bed, nearly lifeless but still _alive__,_ Hayato feels at ease. It isn't an ideal situation but he'd just have to make the best of it. He'd simply have to learn to let go of this ridiculous anger directed at all the wrong people and just _grow up_.

His lids began to feel heavy and _finally_, he thinks, _I can sleep._ He knows with letting this go he'll be able to sleep better and he knows accepting Yamamoto will chase the nightmares away, if only just for a night.

Hayato reaches over the guard rail of the hospital bed and laces his fingers with Yamamoto's. He doesn't care if the nurses or anyone else sees him right now, he needs just a little bit of Yamamoto's warmth, that one shot fix he can ride the high from, just so he can sleep a little. Yamamoto has always been like a drug to him.

Something tells him that quack of a doctor put something close to a _do not disturb _message out to all of the staff anyways.

Leaning forward at the most uncomfortable angle but still somehow comfortable, Hayato lets his eyelids flutter closed and doesn't resist this time when sleep finally takes him.


End file.
